


It's a Bit Late For Tea, Professor

by smartlions



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Heavy Petting, Mutual Pining, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-11-28 19:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20971901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartlions/pseuds/smartlions
Summary: Spoilers for Sylvain's Goddess Tower scene and Chapter 9.Despite her best efforts, Byleth likes Sylvain. More than she knows is good for her. And when he turns up at her door after dark, looking to offer her some company after the worst day of her life, she welcomes him in, not knowing what to expect from Garreg Mach's resident Casanova. But, drinking and being sad together can only lead to good things.





	It's a Bit Late For Tea, Professor

The sky still hadn’t cleared since the other day, and the gray clouds hung heavy over Byleth as she listlessly made her way down her to do list for the day.

She was, to put it simply, exhausted. The week had felt like it had been going on for centuries, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw her father, bleeding out in the rain while she could do nothing.

Everyone she had spoken with had offered her their condolences, as well as their support when the time came to hunt down the villains who had killed her father… and yet, despite all the kindness extended to her by her students and her peers, she still felt hollow.

Without thinking, she ended up in the classroom, finding Sylvain and Felix together in the shadow the heavy doors, talking in hushed tones about the most recent betrayal against the church.

For the first time since she’d met him, Felix actually went out of his way to her to speak first. He stiffly started to go on about the tactical weaknesses of the Monastery, and Byleth nodded along with the criticisms. The whole while, Sylvain stared past his friend and watched her. He looked as good as ever, and for a split second she was annoyed, that even in face of everything that was going on right now, he had still somehow found time to preen in a mirror somewhere, his red hair perfectly tousled. But she couldn’t hold it against him, since she kept meeting his eyes. She hoped he would say something—but when he finally did speak up, it was just to agree with whatever it was Felix had said.

Finally, after Felix continued on his tirade a little longer, he did address her properly, though awkwardly; “It’s strange to see you with such a dark expression, Professor. But I am glad to see you out in the world.”

She nodded, not really knowing what to say as a response. She wasn’t used to the idea of someone being glad to see her out and about, especially given the current circumstances. But, despite the uncomfortable tone of conversation, Sylvain maintained his usual cool, effortlessly making her heart skip a beat.

She liked him more than she had ever expected to. She had spent most of their early conversations admonishing his behavior with the female students in the monastery, and he had pointedly ignored her. She had rolled her eyes every time she watched yet another short-lived relationship of his fall apart, and was certain that she would never feel anything warmer than irritation about him.

But somehow, he had wormed his way up into her heart. Now, they would frequently have tea together on the lawn, and she was pleasantly surprised by how much she enjoyed their conversations—pried away from his womanizing, he was witty and intelligent, surprisingly interesting when he would describe the theatre to her. He promised that he would take her one day, and something fluttered inside her chest. And she realized that she was falling for the same trick as everyone else.

Even knowing that, though, she couldn't quash the butterflies in her chest each time he sought her out, asked for advice, told her some lively story. 

He was, admittedly, charming, but she never thought he felt about her any more deeply than as a trusted friend.

And then, the night of the ball, while seeking a moment of peace and quiet, she saw him approach her, bathed in the moonlight of the goddess tower—the most handsome he had ever looked, she thought before she could stop herself.

He asked her to marry him.

Her veins turned to ice as she realized he must be joking. Here he was again, treating her just like another one of his conquests. And she hadn't even kissed him, or been on a proper date with him yet, and he was still going along with his script. She was certain he was making fun of her, knowing how much she hated his shallow coasting from one relationship to another, though she didn’t know what she had done to deserve being mocked.

She wanted it to be true anyway. Before that, she hadn’t realised that marriage was something she even wanted to consider in her life, let alone marriage to Sylvain. Mercenaries, in her experience, didn’t marry, didn’t really have futures—but, she wasn’t really a mercenary anymore, was she? Suddenly, she was struck by a pang of hurt because, while he was obviously joking, her heart had gone and taken his proposal very seriously.

She told him she couldn't trust him in her usual blunt tone, that she couldn’t marry a man who would run after the first other woman he saw, and… for the first time in the short year that she'd known him, he looked genuinely hurt.

And suddenly, he was pledging to become a better person, to be a "man that you can trust," to be someone dedicated to her alone, it dawned on her that he had maybe been serious the whole time. She had been thinking about his sincerity, the way he had gently taken her hand for a brief moment before they walked back to the ballroom together, the way he looked at her with such a strange look of earnestness in his brown eyes… her mind was occupied with him, trying to puzzle out everything that had happened between them, up until yesterday. 

And now all she could think about was her father's blood staining her hands.

Shuddering for the hundredth time at the still-fresh memory, she excused herself from the conversation. As Felix turned back to their conversation, Sylvain's gaze lingered, and for a second, she thought he was going to follow after her. But he didn't.

It didn't hurt her feelings, she decided, continuing on with her last few errands for the day. Dutifully she accepted her condolences from everyone she passed, collected her supplies for the month ahead from the market—time stops for no professor, even if that professor is a grieving daughter—and finally, the sun setting as she left the dining hall after an uncomfortably quiet dinner, she made it back to her private room. The door shut soundly on the world beyond, she was left to stew in her devastation.

Except, the tears wouldn't come, no matter how hard she willed them to spill, to get the whole weeping ordeal over with. She lay down on her bed, but she was so exhausted that her body wouldn't let her sleep, only letting her think about how tired she was. Then, she realised, she couldn't stand to think about her father anymore today, anyway, and she didn’t want to feel sorry for herself either.

She stood from her bed, and searched her room for something to busy herself with. There were piles of ungraded papers on the corner of her desk, books aplenty on her shelves, her wardrobe that could stand to be reorganised… but just thinking about picking up any of those tasks felt like a gigantic effort alone. Just as she was about to give up on the notion of accomplishing anything and was considering running headfirst into the wall from boredom, there was a knock at the door.

She crept over to it, and through the wood demanded, "who is it? It's late."

A familiar, if muffled voice replied to her; "It's me."

Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly ran her fingers through her hair before opening the door to see Sylvain casually leaning against the doorframe.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" She asked weakly.

"I wanted to talk to you earlier, you know," he said. "I wanted to make sure you weren't going crazy."

"Oh?!" She crossed her arms over her chest, shooting him a glare, even though, really, she had been going a little crazy.

"That's… not what I meant. Shit, I… I just know what it's like to lose someone and have to go on like everything will be fine."

"You mean your brother?"

"Obviously. Look, I don't mean to be rude, but can I come in?" He glanced over his shoulder. "Its cold out here."

"And there are the guards."

"Well it certainly wouldn't do us any favors if someone thought they were catching us doing something scandalous."

She wanted to say, _should we? _But she wasn’t feeling bold enough. Instead, she stepped aside to let him slip in, closing the door quietly behind him.

When she turned around, he was taking in every detail of her room with wide eyes. Involuntarily, she felt very self-conscious, noting the disorganized pile of papers she needed to look over, the rumpled state of her bed, the book she'd borrowed from the library because it was a title he'd mentioned over tea…

While his eyes were drawn to the mountains of work piled on her desk, she swiftly kicked the book under the bed. Last thing she needed was him getting a big ego about her reading habits.

"Can I sit?" He asked, already folding himself onto the edge of her bed.

"Make yourself at home," she said. And she meant it. "You want something to drink?"

He laughed politely. "I think it's a bit late for tea Professor, don't you?"

She nudged her dresser away from the wall, fishing out a clear-glass bottle from its hiding spot, three quarters full with amber liquid. Sylvain's expression shifted into a mischievous smile. "Oh, _that_ sort of drinking."

"I don't have cups," she admitted, popping the old, dry cork from the bottle easily. She took a heavy swig before reaching to pass it along to Sylvain.

His grin spread wider across his face. "Y'know Professor, if you wanted to kiss me, you could have just said the word. No need to be so indirect about it."

She blushed violently, snatching the bottle back. He relented—"okay, okay, okay, not funny, message received." She released her grip on the bottle, and Sylvain cautiously took his own pull.

For a minute, they silently passed the bottle back and forth, before Byleth decided to speak again.

“I don’t really want to talk about Jeralt,” she admitted. “He’s all anyone will talk to me about, and I just… I don’t want to think about it.”

“I get it.” Sylvain wrung his hands around the bottle’s neck, staring down at them. “You know, no one asked me about Miklan. But I didn’t want to talk about it either, right? Because I’d have to decide if I was going to hate him, or hate myself.”

His knuckles were bone-white as he clenched them around the bottleneck, and she remembered him having the same grip on his lance as he charged towards his older brother only a few months earlier… and she remembered the pure hatred in Miklan’s eyes as he watched his younger brother ride toward him.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. He was trying to kill you.”

“He’d been trying to kill me my whole life, Professor. And, honestly, I don’t know if I blame him. He lost everything because of me.” The muscles of Sylvain’s jaw fluttered as he adjusted his grip on the bottle again, stare still locked on his hands. “I know it wasn’t my fault that he hated me, but it was my fault that he died. That he turned into that monster.”

“Sylvain,” her voice came out softer than she expected it to be, and had a sudden desire to lean forward and touch him, to comfort him… she pushed it aside as he looked up from the bottle at her. “He was going to turn whether you were involved or not. If you hadn’t been there, it would have been someone else. You did the right thing.”

“Yeah, well, I still feel like, maybe,” Sylvain sighed, “I feel like I could have maybe saved him.”

“Yeah.” Byleth winced involuntarily, though Sylvain’s face didn’t change. “But we can’t save everyone.”

“No. We can’t.” He looked at her pointedly now, though she turned away from his gaze. “I hope you know that Professor.”

She ignored him, instead laughing dryly. “I hope you didn’t come here for cheery conversation, since apparently I’m incapable of that right now.”

Sylvain snorted in reply, and the two were silent again. Sitting awkwardly on the edge of the desk, Byleth watched Sylvain as he nursed the bottle, before deciding she couldn’t stand the silence.

"You know, I found out exactly how old I am."

"Oh?" Sylvain's eyebrow rose as he lifted the bottle to his lips. "Old enough to drink? Or should I finish this myself?"

She laughed hollowly. "I'm 21, so pass it here."

He did, their fingers brushing as she received the glass. For a split second, he blushed. "A year older than me, huh."

"That means you have to respect me, you know."

He smiled, but not the cocky grin she had expected. It was genuine, and soft. "I already respect you, Professor."

She waved her hand dismissively at the title. "Oh, enough of that. Call me Byleth, for the Goddess' sake." She took a long swig, savoring the almost-painful burn of the liquor in her throat. "You asked me to marry you just last week. I think we'll survive being on a first name basis."

He raised his hands defensively, cocky grin back in its usual place. "Look, I wasn't _actually_—"

"Sylvain," she cut him off sharply, brandishing the bottle like a weapon, "if you finish that sentence, I will kill you, and I will kick you out of my room."

He laughed hard. "I think killing me and _then_ kicking me out would be redundant."

"Shut up."

He was quiet again for a moment as he watched her take another drink, then said. “Really though, Professor. Byleth. I was joking. Kind of.”

“Kind of,” she repeated, and forced the bottle, now just over half-empty, back into his hands. She could feel her face growing warm, but couldn’t tell if it was irritation or her finally getting drunk.

“I mean, I assume you’re hoping it was a joke.”

She glared at him, then realised he was looking at her with a vulnerability she hadn’t seen on him before. Without thinking, she quickly said, “I was actually hoping it wasn’t.”

She clapped her hand over her mouth suddenly, eyes wide as she wished she could take back the words. Sylvain’s expression mirrored hers, slack-jawed as he took in what she had just said.

“Oh.” He quickly schooled his expression, his usual easy smile back in place, and for the hundredth time that year, Byleth’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. “So, I didn’t pledge myself to you for no reason, then?”

And then her heart settled back into its regular pattern, and her cheeks were burning, and she was annoyed with him again. “Why can I _still_ not tell if you’re joking or not?!”

“What?”

“You’re insufferable! You’re always so…” she gestured at him accusingly, “so _Sylvain_! Can you not take anything seriously?” She shook her head in disbelief, and reached to snatch the both back again—but, before she could, he caught her hand.

“Byleth,” he positioned himself so she had to look at him, ducked down to meet her averted gaze. His cheeks were red, and his warm brown eyes soft with some emotion Byleth didn’t have a word for, and he held her hand so carefully. “I couldn’t be more serious if I tried.”

She was again overcome with the desire to touch him, and this time, she didn’t stop herself. She stooped her head low, and brushed her lips against his. Eagerly, he leaned into her, and she heard the bottle hit the carpet with a dull thud, but she was too preoccupied to care because Sylvain’s hands were twisting in her hair as he kissed her deeply. The two of them stood so quickly they were both sent stumbled back. Byleth wobbled into the desk hard enough to have it knock against the wall, but he didn’t miss a beat, pressing his body into hers until she was forced to sit on the desk again, this time her legs wrapped around his. He groaned lowly, a noise she had never heard before, but that set off something warm in her core, and she wrapped her arms around Sylvain’s neck, hoping he’d make that sound again.

Byleth had never kissed anyone before. Travelling the continent with your mercenary father didn’t leave a young girl with a lot of opportunities for making friends, let alone romantic interests; before Garreg Mach, she’d never really given it much thought, but now, here she was, Sylvain’s lips pressed hard against hers. She felt dizzy, and clung to him harder. He grinned against her mouth, and pulled away long enough to look her in the eyes before planting another kiss on the corner of her mouth, the curve of her jaw, the soft spot where her cheekbone met her ear…

All the while, he was pinning her to the desk, Sylvain’s hands travelled down her spine, finding her waist, twisting in her cloak. He moved without hesitation, as if he’d been thinking of what it would be like to do this for ages—or, more likely, he was well practiced in the motions to go through. She didn’t care though, she just wanted him to keep touching her. As his hands slid underneath her cloak to rest against the small of her back, she moaned softly against her will. She snaked her own hands under his uniform jacket, feeling the muscles of his shoulders beneath, she felt like her whole body was going to burst into flames.

Without realising, their hips were grinding together, Sylvain’s breath hitching every time they moved. And she started to whisper, _please_, not knowing why, or exactly what she was asking for, and his mouth was trailing down her throat and she felt like she was going to die in the best possible way, and she wrapped her legs around him tighter, pulling him closer, feeling how warm his body was and , _Goddess, she wanted him_ _closer still_…

And then he jerked back with a breathy gasp.

She hissed as he pulled away, and tried to reel him back in by his lapels, but he gently removed her hands from his jacket.

“Byleth, you’re drunk.”

“So are you!” She reached out for him again, but he instead braced his hands on either side of her against the desktop.

“Look, Byleth. Please, if I don’t stop now, I won’t be able to—” he shook his head sharply, forcing himself to stare at the wall directly above her head. “I have to stop. I’m not who I want to be for you. Not right now, not like this.”

“Please, Sylvain,” she pleaded, dignity out the window. Her hands were clinging to the lapels of his coat, desperately trying to bring him back to her. “You don’t have to change—I’ve liked you for you the whole time. I never would have admitted it before, but I’ve always liked you. Ever since the first day I saw you.”

“I’ve always liked you too, Byleth,” his voice was a whisper against her ear now, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the desk. He gently rested his forehead against his shoulder, breathing heavily. “I want to be better for you. I want to be someone worthy of you. You deserve it.”

He finally raised his head after a long moment of silence, the only sound in the room their hard breathing and Byleth’s thundering heart. He looked at her again, brown eyes looking sad as he smirked. “You said it yourself, right? You can’t trust me yet.”

“I do trust you though, Sylvain. I really do.” And, in that moment, she had never been more honest about anything in her whole life, because it was true. Despite everything, she trusted him more than anyone.

He chuckled wryly, leaning in to whisper in her ear, his hot breath making her shiver. His voice was cold though, as he said, “C’mon, Byleth, you and I both you you’re saying that because you want to get into my pants.”

She gasped, and suddenly all her forgotten irritation came rushing back as she remembered who she was dealing with. She glared at the redhead as he pulled away from her completely, and realised that, this was it, she was finally getting a taste of the infamous Sylvain Jose Gautier. She’d turned into one of his usual girls, just like she’d feared. She should have known better than to listen to him.

But she didn’t stop him as he kissed her on the cheek, and he lingered longer than she expected him to. And even though she wanted to hit him, she still wanted to pull him back to her, as she watched him stand and straighten his uniform. Then, he straightened his spine, fixed his hair—the whole while his eyes locked with hers. Confidently, he strode for the door, leaving her sitting on the desk still, papers scattered on the floor around her, her room reflecting the storm that roiled in her mind as he left her; he paused only long enough to look back at her through the open door, and she noticed he still had that sad look in his eyes, though he was smiling in his usual easy way.

“See you tomorrow, Professor.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sylvain: proposes to Byleth in the goddess tower  
Me: desperately searches for the "yes" response
> 
> Thanks to Lanners for betaing as always, you're the best!


End file.
